Resistance Fall of Man: Chapter Two
by DracosDemon
Summary: Robert Granger is taken to a secret base to learn more about project 'Ares'.


**DISCLAIMER: ** I do not own 'Resistance Fall of Man' or any aspect of the franchise. This piece has been written purely as a work of imaginative fan-fiction and the title, its rights and intellectual property belong to Insomniac Games and Sony. I make NO profits from this piece whatsoever.

**Resistance Fall of Man:**

**Fall of the West**

**Chapter Two: Project 'Ares'**

"Colonel Granger, my name is Rene Myers." The smartly dressed slim brunette reached out her pale hand to Robert, her hazel eyes framed by wire-rimmed glasses. Her handshake was firm and businesslike, her voice clearly audible above the noise of the VTOL's engines. "I will be your point of contact during this mission."

The door of the VTOL was slammed shut, blocking out the dazzling sunlight and the rapidly moving vista of the red landscape below. The interior of the noisy aircraft was filled with gloom, Robert's eyes taking a moment to accustom themselves to the lack of light.

"Forgive by abruptness Miss Myers, but what the hell is going on? I was on my way to an important meeting when you just blocked the damn road and swooped down on me…" He glared at her, his hand tightening on the bottle he was holding.

Myers cut him off mid sentence. "Ahh yes…your 'business' in Vegas. We know about the gambling Colonel…we know how much you owe the casino owners there. However, when you realize the gravity of this mission, I'm sure you will appreciate that your little 'character flaw' can be put on hold." The sarcastic tone of her voice infuriated him…the smugness of her attitude…the way she dressed like some middle-class college lecturer. How old was she? She couldn't be more than twenty-five years old…a damn kid!

Her accent was New York through and through, but tempered by a degree of higher education. He guessed she was a university graduate, one of the new generation of women that the government was employing in junior positions. Despite his immediate distrust of her, he couldn't help but notice how pretty she was. There was a definite hint of Rita Hayworth in her face, combined with the body of Betty Grable. He grinned inwardly. Whatever the hell this was about, she was at least easy on the eye and would make the journey more bearable.

Granger leaned over, his unshaven face inches from hers. He took delight in her discomfort and the way she failed to maintain eye contact with him. "Look lady…cut the bullshit. What is it you want? Where are we going?" He saw her glance nervously down at the bottle.

"You shouldn't have _that_ onboard Colonel." Her voice had lost some of its authority, the confidence now having evaporated like water droplets on a hot engine block. She could smell the booze on his breath. "Look…we are heading to a secure location, but I'll tell you what you need to know here." She glanced around the interior of the VTOL and at the two military police officers who sat at the front of the cargo hold. She lowered the volume of her voice as she leaned towards him. "I suppose it's as safe as anywhere else."

He looked around the cabin. The pilots sat up-front at the aircraft's controls, the bright Texan landscape filling the glass bubble-canopy ahead of them. The military police who sat facing him were watching him with barely contained hostility. He grinned over to them, nodding his head and matching their cold stares with his own.

"Are you going to be able to take this intelligence in Colonel…" She paused, looking down at the bottle a second time. "Given your condition?"

He laughed. "I've just driven my car safely for over two hundred miles. I've had a drink Miss Myers…_not_ a frontal lobotomy. I'm sure if _you_ can understand it all, I can." He grinned inwardly when he saw how insulted she was by his last comment.

She straightened up in the folding metal-framed chair and cast a glance down at a thick document she was holding. "Okay then. We have received reports of major military activity deep within the Russian borders. We believe there are mass troop movements, armored brigades on the move, bomber and fighter aircraft flying over their more remote towns and cities. We've also had reports of refugees fleeing in all directions. Some have headed West, whilst others are moving Eastwards."

"Is it another Communist attempt at a revolution?" He took a swig from his bottle and saw the look of disapproval in her eyes.

"No…since the failed revolution attempts of 1917 and 1918, the Communists have not had the strength or support to mount another attempt. Besides, the new Czar executed most of their leaders after his father died…the few that are left are rotting in a Siberian prison camp."

"Are they being attacked by another country then? Germany?" He shrugged, glancing down at the rum, silently mourning its rapid demise. "Or perhaps terrorists?"

The young woman shook her head. "No. Since Hitler pulled out of Poland in 1939 he's made no hostile moves in nearly ten years. Yes, there's been international controversy over his V1 and V2 tests, but nothing has been launched at Russia from German soil."

"So…is the military trying to take over? It's a possibility, from what you've told me."

"No. The Czar has good contacts and relations with his top generals. The army is completely loyal to him." She glanced nervously at the military police and shuffled closer to Granger, lowering the volume of her voice further. "Look…I get the impression that my seniors know more about this situation than they're at liberty to tell me. Your mission is simple: you are to fly over Russian territory and take pictures of what's going on below. You fly back and bring the film of what you've seen back with you."

Granger laughed so hard he almost choked on his rum. "Oh yes! Of course!..._just _fly over sovereign Russian soil…through their massed anti-aircraft guns and new missile system and radars!" He shook his head, his amusement attracting the attention of the military police. "Oh yes, not forgetting their Mig-9 squadrons and the new Mig-15s. Yeah…well if that's _all _you want me to do then sure! Why not!" He raised his hands in the air theatrically as he laughed. "You're fucking mad…do you know that lady?"

She sat back in her chair, shaking her head. "Well, I guess I shouldn't have expected too much from you…your file said you were, I quote, 'a washed-up liability'." Despite her hash words, she couldn't hide the disappointment in her face, the thought that she would have to admit defeat to her superiors. Given his drink problem and foul attitude, she couldn't understand why they had picked Granger for the mission in the first place.

Through the thick fog of rum he almost felt sorry for her. He leaned forward and looked into her face, deliberately softening the tone of his voice. "Look…it's a suicide mission. Whoever flies over Russian airspace is a dead man. It's as simple as that."

She returned his stare, her eyes hardened behind the lenses of her glasses. "Oh we don't expect you to simply fly over in any old plane. We've got something rather special waiting for you."

He nodded, suspecting where she was heading with her line of conversation. "Oh, I think I see what you're implying Miss Myers. Yes, I'm a test pilot on the Bell X1 project, but listen…the X1 has five minutes…_five minutes_ of flight time before it runs out of fuel. It's a straight line aircraft only…limited maneuverability, no weapons, no cameras and no real range capability. It's carried under the belly of a B-29 'Superfortress' and to improve its range you'd have to fly the B-29 right through Russian airspace. Once again, it's suicide…you'd be blown out the sky, or, more importantly, I would."

Un-phased by his outburst, she reached into the documents and passed him three colour photographs. "Colonel Granger. This is the aircraft we want you to fly over Russia."

Through the haze of alcohol his reddened eyes focused on the pictures, his vision taking in the lines and symmetry of the incredible matt-black coloured machine.

"That, Colonel, is project 'Ares'."

* * * *

The following day Robert sat on the sparse bed at the desert air force base. The room he'd been assigned looked more like a prison cell than a bedroom and his hangover was only just starting to diminish. He ran his pale trembling hands through his dark hair, trying to focus on the floor and his feet. A hot shower, a shave and three strong coffees had helped animate him, but he still felt like badly beaten crap.

A light knock on the door made him raise his heavy head towards the sound. Rene Myers entered, holding a fresh coffee. "Are you awake yet? Before your official briefing we need to dry you out."

Robert grunted, pointing her to a small chair in the corner of the room. "Yeah, I'm as awake as I'm going to be today. Before you hit me with the party line, I want to know one thing."

She nodded. "Sure. Fire away."

"Why me?...why pick me out of all the other guys on the X-1 project?" His throat was still sore from vomiting and he coughed, accepting the coffee she handed to him.

"Well firstly you're English…_not_ American. If you get shot down we'll simply deny any knowledge of you. The aircraft has no insignia and we've got your dog-tags. Even if they strip out the aircraft, there are no markings or stamps on the individual components or engines…nothing to directly trace you back to us. All they can do is _suspect_ that we were involved…they can't prove a thing."

He nodded. "Sweet…so I'm your disposable crash-test dummy?"

She nodded back, a slight smile spreading across her lips. "If you want to look at it that way yes…you are a disposable asset. However, there's more to it than that. You have a post graduate degree in engineering and you have fighter training _plus_ real combat experience. You're also involved with the in-flight re-fueling project…that will be useful to this mission. In addition to that you're unknown within the X-1 project itself, except for that ridiculous stunt of yours we managed to cover up."

He grinned. His gums felt as if they were made of numb putty and his eyes ached inside their inflamed sockets. "You mean when I became the first human to break the speed of sound?"

She shook her head. "No! I mean when you stole a valuable top-secret asset from the United States government!" She shook her head and pointed at him angrily.

He laughed, amused that he'd provoked such a strong response off her. "Bullshit! There was a sonic boom…you _know_ there was!"

"No! You are lucky you weren't arrested for that stunt!" She pointed at him angrily. "You took the damn aircraft while drunk…that's a Federal offence…theft of US property….property paid for by the American tax payers! It _could_ have been seen as an act of treason…they'd have shot you."

He shrugged, rubbing his temples. "Feels like I've been shot in the skull anyhow…it's all bullshit…you know it as well as I do. The other guy got the credit and glory for the sonic bang, so it doesn't matter a damn to me."

She shuffled the documents in her hands, pulling out the relevant piece of paper. "The official test flight reached the speed of sound after you stole the X-1…why the hell _should_ you get any credit?"

He waved his hand at her dismissively. "I just don't care anymore…just tell me what we're doing today before I puke again." The floor seemed to shift beneath his feet as he fought to control the muscles in his sore stomach.

She cautiously passed him the waste paper bin, her face radiating disgust. "Today we're taking a flight to England. Once there you will be shown the aircraft. It's similar to the X-1, but there's a bit more to it. You'll see when we get there. Both the 'Ares' and its B-29 are in a secure base and are ready to go. We have a change of clothes for you that are on their way over."

He nodded, suddenly regretting his decision to design and test prototypes for the US air force.

Twenty minutes later he filled his lungs with hot Texas air as he walked out into the painful sunlight, shielding his eyes with his hand. The light grey tarmac was scorching, fine dust blowing across the runway, carried by a fiery breeze. His sand-coloured slacks and shirt did their best to reflect some of the heat, but it was to little effect. Texas, in the heat of a desert summer, was an unstoppable force of nature.

The Lockheed C-69 'Super Constellation' hummed noisily on the runway, its sleek aluminium torpedo-shaped body suspended above the baking ground by its gawky steel undercarriage. The brilliant mirrored wings vibrated visibly with the force of the four huge engines as he walked towards the steps that led up to the welcoming air-conditioned interior. He could smell the stench of fumes from the engines that were blown towards him by the huge propellers. The heavy odor of oil and burnt fuel invaded his nostrils and stale lungs, his stomach twitching as he fought the impulse to vomit again.

When he was seated inside, the gantry and steps were pulled clear of the aircraft. Rene Myers took a seat opposite him, a small leather briefcase resting next to her slender legs.

The door from the pilot's cockpit opened and a large man in a black suit walked through into the main cabin, taking up a seat in the row opposite Robert. It was the large man who had been driving the car that had been trailing them in Texas, the same man who had been left glaring upwards as Robert was flown away in the VTOL. He didn't offer his hand to shake as he spoke. "So…you're Colonel Granger…we meet at last. I'm agent Watson of the C.I.A."


End file.
